Embracing the In-Between with Julianne Kanzaki: Art 2 Heart Podcast Episode 8.

I wrote this spoken word poem in 2017 when I was navigating an ‘in-between’ space in my career. Just like me, this poem has morphed and changed throughout the years. I’ve added and removed stanzas, changed words, and have allowed it to develop and grow with time.

Much gratitude to David Morin, host of the Art 2 Heart Podcast, for putting this together. I shared this poem as part of our conversation on his podcast.

We discuss how a daily creative practice can be a guiding light to bring you back to yourself and your deepest desires, how to befriend your intuition, and practices to become more comfortable in the liminal, in-between spaces of life. I share how making handmade cards for 100 consecutive days lead me to change career paths, how poetry is a container for processing grief and other complicated emotions, and the blessings that come from carving out space to make or play daily. May you be inspired to play with boredom, honor your intuition, and be brave enough to follow where it leads you.

Goodbye, 2022.

My 2022 altar symbolizing my inner and outer landscape of the past year.

Leaving behind 2022 and entering into 2023 is a threshold moment. A passage. An opportunity to slow down. Reflect. Reorient ourselves.

An altar is a map for meaning-making. The word originates from the Latin word altus, which means ‘to raise up.’ Creating ritual altars allow us to put something down in order to take a step back and look at our lives. To mark a threshold moment.

At the center of my 2022 altar rests an acorn and mushroom- two powerful symbols of the year. The acorn- planting a seed, trusting that ‘mighty oaks from little acorns grow.’ And the mushroom, a nod to the power of plant medicine, as well as the rich mycelium network and community that supported me this year. Both acorns and mushrooms grow in dark places and need the rich, fertile soil as a foundation. 2022 was an insulated year that was largely ‘under the surface.’ I learned to surrender and become more comfortable in the liminal spaces of life while patiently germinating and growing.

The oak leaves symbolize trusting the process. Celebrating the full life cycle that an acorn completes to become an oak tree. 18 berries for the 18 months I’ve devoted to working on my book. Three pink flowers for my three mentors who have sat with me, shared their wisdom and teachings with me, and who continually encourage me to reach my fullest potential. Three yellow flowers for my three closest friends who have watered me and shared their sunshine with me as I germinated this year.

This altar was created from everything I foraged from my natural surroundings. Nature is abundant and beautiful, even in the winter. May we create the space to make meaning from the exquisite beauty that exists all around us. Celebrate all that is both impermanent and precious in this present moment. Cross these threshold moments together, sharing our stories with our hands outstretched and and our hearts full. So very full.

Types of People to Have in Your Tribe.

The friend who texts you to look at the sunset. Curious listeners. The one you look at and automatically know what they’re thinking. People who show up on time. The one who knows how you like your coffee. Creative partners. The friend who messages you to let you know they’re thinking of you. Those who know how to hold space. Ones you feel safe crying in front of. The one you send your rough drafts/outlines to because you trust their honest and constructive feedback. The friends who stay calm and patient when you’re lost on the trails. The friend who remembers ‘quiet anniversaries’ and sends you a card letting you know they’re thinking of you. The one who always comes over with flowers or your favorite snacks. The one you call when you’re feeling sad and they know how to make you laugh and give you a different perspective that puts you in a positive state of mind. Comfortable-silence friends. Enthusiastic adventurers. The friend who transforms mundane errands like going grocery shopping into a full-blown comedic show where you can’t stop laughing. Patient teachers. The ones you call when you’re in crisis mode and panicking and they drop everything and come over. Friends who are generous with time and money and you know they don’t want or expect anything in return. Friends who send you songs because it reminds them of you. The one you casually mention a book you want to read and later on they gift it to you. Friends who put their phones away when you’re together so they can be fully present. The ones you haven’t spoken to in months, but when you do, you pick up right where you left off. The friend who remembers details. The person you can be completely yourself with. Whoever came to mind as you read this. Hold them close. Let them know you love them.

These people are your tribe.

The Gifts of Darkness.

Montara Mountain, Pacifica

“When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.

The dark will be your womb
tonight.

The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.

You must learn one thing.
The world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.
”
— David Whyte, Sweet Darkness

Divorce. Break-ups. Layoffs. Death.

There is immense darkness that exists within each of these experiences. You may feel shock, deep grief, numbness, loneliness, and isolation.

But what if, within this darkness, there is a gift? A tiny spark- of freedom, curiosity, new opportunities, a chance to start fresh? To rediscover yourself? Embark upon a new path?

What if we needed the darkness in order to finally recognize the light within ourselves?

Sometimes what feels like the end…is often the beginning of something better.

Happy Winter Solstice, friends. From here on out, the days become longer and brighter.

The Month of New.

Since June, I’ve been a part of a special group called “9 Squares.” It began with nine of us, ranging from different types of career and cultural backgrounds. We meet monthly, and as the name suggests, we each share 9 images that represent and summarize our month. It started as a summer experiment to build community outside of the main social media platforms. But pretty soon, we collectively sensed the value of this group and continued to meet monthly. It’s personally been a wonderful way to reflect on each month while sharing the more intimate aspects of our lives and emotions in a real, unedited, raw way through unedited and uncaptioned images.

Storytelling through images alone is powerful. It reminds me of the early days of Instagram, where you could immediately sense so much about a person without knowing them IRL merely by observing how they saw and interpreted the world through shapes, colors and symbols.

December has been my “Month of New.” It was an intentional theme to inject my life with more novelty and jumpstart an energetic and creative reset before January.

So far, I’ve booked get aways and spent time in new cities, explored tide pools with old friends (while celebrating new chapters of our lives), found new books in used bookstores (which happen to be my favorite), and tried out new coffee shops and trails. I ate dinner while watching the sunset from a old wooden log with my feet in the sand and found new angles to capture the waves next to fellow photographers. I deliberately chose fiction books from the lending library on the neighborhood corner, and fell back in love with spending hours in the evening making my way through fantasy books. I’m learning there can be novelty and feelings of ‘newness’ within the tried and true parts of my life that I cherish- deep connections, nature, quaint coffee shops, trails, and books.

There is something oddly comforting about knowing there is so much more to discover in life, as long as we continue to stay open and receptive.

It's Just Like Riding a Bike.

It’s just like riding a bike, they say.

Once you’ve learned how to ride a bike, the muscle memory is ingrained in you. It’s something you’ll never forget how to do.

But what often gets overlooked is how you learned how to ride a bike. Nobody learns how to ride a bike (or rollerskate or snowboard) from reading a book or watching a YouTube video or taking an online class.

You learn by doing it. Or rather, by not doing it. You lose your balance. You don’t stop in time and you fall. You learn by trying and failing and getting back up. Again and again.

This applies to other areas of life. Anything worth doing well is worth doing right. Which requires time and patience and perseverance to make it through the initial (and often most painful and frustrating) stages of learning.

What we usually don’t remember is falling over in the parking lot when we couldn’t clip out of our pedals in time, or the sting of roadrash on our elbows from our first crash.

Instead, we remember the epic views, the endorphin highs, the deep conversations shared with friends, and the feeling of accomplishment from finishing a long day in the saddle.

Enjoy the ride.

Possible Futures.

Anytime a ‘quiet anniversary’ passes, I think about what my life would’ve been like if I’d gone down a particular path. If I’d actually gotten married or continued working as a clinical dietitian at the hospital. If I’d stayed in Southern California. I imagine how other things may have differed- my values, my community, my interests, my hobbies, my spirituality, and my contribution to the world.

Instead of reminiscing about the past, I’ve flipped the script and started visualizing all my possible futures. We’ve seen how dramatic life changes and transformations can occur in just a few years, so why not reimagine the plethora of options that await us? Thoughts become things.

I’ve been experimenting with the concept of Mind Movies. Every morning and evening I’ll visualize in detail some possible future. Just for fun. They are wildly diverse- ranging from living a nomadic lifestyle in a sprinter van traveling and writing and photographing in nature. Leading wellness retreats in Bali and Hawaii where I incorporate sound bath healing and art therapy and nutrition and hiking. Teaching and creating workshops with my partner at Esalen. Adopting a puppy. Moving to Colorado. There are so many futures that invigorate me because they are all ripe with excitement and possibility.

I keep a journal with all these possible futures. When I feel stuck, I flip open and read some of these pages to remind myself of new paths and directions I can choose to explore. Because life doesn’t happen to us. It happens for us. And we can consciously co-create with the universe.

When we give ourselves permission to say ‘no’ to things and people that cause our bodies and souls to contract and shrink, we free ourselves to feel the openness and expansiveness of saying YES to the many possible futures that our souls are calling us towards.

Think big. Reimagine the possibilities. Thoughts become things. Your future(s) await you.

The Month of "No."

Shonda Rhimes is famous for her brilliant book, “Year of Yes: How to Dance It Out, Stand In the Sun, and Be Your Own Person.”

I decided this month I’d create my own experiment- “The Month of No.”

I have a huge wall calendar and every day this month I’ve kept track of something I declined, cancelled, or said ‘no’ to. Some included speaking invitations that I wanted to say yes to, but I knew that it’d require time and energy that I didn’t have. I cancelled monthly subscriptions for supplements I didn’t need. Monthly skincare subscription products that I had stockpiled under my cabinet. I declined meetings that weren’t mandatory. Turned down a few project collaborations that didn’t spark interest. Declined a baby shower and happy hour invitations. Returned clothes that I ordered online and didn’t absolutely love.

This experiment is giving me full permission to deeply listen to myself. Honor that quiet voice and my own inner ‘no.’ It’s allowed me to have the time and space to meet up with friends who I really love spending time with, call people and actually talk on the phone, and create art from a place of freedom and joy. Simplifying my life by clearing out the excess has shown me how happiness (for me) is found in the beautiful mundane- reading books in the evening underneath a weighted blanket, morning walks in nature enjoying the crisp weather and the turning colors of leaves. Making nature mandalas. Cooking delicious meals at home.

Saying no to so many things has cleared my calendar to make space for the people and projects that light me up and energize me. It’s simplified my life in a myriad of ways. By saying no to the ambivalent time-fillers, now I can focus my days on things I truly care about.

It’s also given me a healthy respect when people say no to me. I applaud them for advocating for themselves, and honoring the rest and time they need for their own mental and physical health.

I imagine there are many benefits to a year of YES. But for now, I’m loving the subtraction, the simplifying, the paring down.

Saying no has freed me to say yes to my own life. It is simple, yet full and beautiful.

Art In Progress.

Anything worthwhile takes a long time. I think about this in terms of quality and workmanship and craft. While cleaning, I found some old card designs from 2017. At the time I was proud of them. But now having made hundreds of handmade designs, I see how at the time I was still searching and learning and discovering my style.

I took those original ideas and iterated on them. I upgraded simple chalk leaf designs into watercolored stencils. I’ve found a better flow with hand-lettering. The imperfect quality of the letters gives them a unique feeling. Something personal. Like a friend wrote to you and licked the envelope and dropped it into the mail.

Creating so many handmade cards is a labor-intensive process. Physical labor. Emotional labor. I first lay down the watercolor base, let it dry, and then hand-letter. I write the text-heavy cards out in the evening because I’ve found my hand is steadier than in the morning.

There were so many cards where something went awry during the final process of writing the text. My hand smeared the letters. Or the lines weren’t symmetrical, or I missed a word. At the end of the day, even though they started out as having so much potential, those cards were rendered useless. They ended up in the recycle bin. Which made those final cards, the ones that made it from start to finish, even more priceless. A true labor of love.

Just like life, we can feel a false sense of security when we lay down our so-called foundations. When we attend the ‘right’ college or get the ‘right’ job or marry the ‘right’ partner or reach the ‘right’ level of financial security. Only to have everything become irrelevant in the end with a quick smear of distrust, deceit, or uneven emotional and energetic reciprocity.

Henry Miller Library, Big Sur.

So when the final cards are sealed in their envelopes, I feel a deep sense of connection to my art because I know all the work that went into creating each one. And my hope is that you or the recipient will feel that love when opening a card from me. Thank you for supporting my work through the years.

Cheers to continuing to practice. And realizing that art, like all of us, are still in progress.